Melodies Lost In The Wind
by dibdabz
Summary: Follow George Harrison as he struggles to come to grips with an event that has haunted him for three months. Will he go to his friends for help? Or will he bury his feelings, push them back and stay numb forever? Bit more angsty that what I usually write. Based party from events that happened to me and others. Enjoy! :)
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

Being here and being alive was easy enough but actually living was hard. Sometimes i took a lot of effort for him to even smile, laugh and be happy. It was easy just to stare off into space, live in your head and picture yourself somewhere better. He doesn't complain about his life though, he had it pretty good. Living with your friends when you were only seventeen had it perks, true but sometimes he felt so alone, even when he was surrounded by others.

I guess in some sense, George Harrison was depressed but he didn't know it yet. He thought he was just unhappy with certain things in his life. He realized something was wrong though when he found it difficult to get motivated in things he used to adore in life. George can't remember the last time he played his guitar just for the sake of playing, he couldn't remember laughing until his stomach hurt when someone made a joke or when he saw something funny and he couldn't remember leaving the house because he wanted to, not because he had to.

He can remember the night things all fell apart for him, he can remember the night when he slowly lost his mind and very slowly fell into a deep hole of becoming sad. It happened on a Saturday night after being at a friends across town. He was in a taxi and George was feeling happy. He'd had fun tonight, they drank a few beers and played some video games but that all came crashing down when they reached the bridge that stood high above the road. He even remembered what the taxi driver looked like and it all happened three months ago...

"_Hey, thanks for coming so soon". George told the driver, as he climbed into the passengers side._

"_No problem mate, we're quite quiet this evening. Which is weird, considering it's a Saturday". He began to drive out of the street and onto the main road, "Have a good night?"_

"_Yeah was alright. Just spent it with some mates". George replied, watching as small droplets of rain padded onto the window. "Guys night, you know?"_

"_I get it". He chuckled, "Had plenty of them when I was your age". _

"_Yeah...I had to head back though, it's almost one in the morning and my other flat mates got a bit worried". _

"_Flat mates, eh?"_

"_Yeah...Just me, John, Paul and Ringo". The taxi driver snorted and stopped at a round a bout. _

"_Ringo? That a nickname?" George chuckled and nodded his head, dark hair falling into his eyes. _

"_He wears a lot of rings". _

"_Original". He smirked making George laugh. _

"_I'll tell him you approve". _

"_Don't...He might beat me up and leave marks on my face". _

_The banter shared between taxi driver and customer was nice, polite and cheeky. George's night was good and from the sounds of it, so was the taxi drivers. _

"_What's the address again?" _

"_44, Rose Street"._

"_Ah, right". The tax driver said, "I'll go under the bridge then. You'll get there quicker and it'll calm your pals nerves". George sighed and rolled his eyes as he leaned forward to fix the ends of his jeans. _

"_They always worry". He muttered but just as George lifted his head, he saw something on the road, right under the bridge. It was a body and next to the body was a man, waving frantically for the car to stop. "Stop!" George yelled, just as the taxi driver slammed down on his breaks._

"_What? What...Oh, God". He groaned as they both stared at the scene in front of them. _

_Looking closer now, they could both see it was a woman, she was a little on the heavier side and was wearing a pink jumper. Beside her head was a large pool of blood and the man's hands were covered in red. _

_George swallowed thickly, not sure if he was going to throw up or scream. _

"_I'll...I'll go over". The taxi driver said, his voice shaking as he quickly unbuckled his seat belt and got out the car. _

_George stared and watched as the man walked over, he could see his face turn pale as a trembling and covered his mouth in shock. The taxi driver then took out his phone and dialled a number before placing it to his ear. George watched as he then knelt down beside the woman and placed two fingers on her neck before shaking his head. _

_He felt useless just sitting there, so after taking off his seat belt George walked out of the car and shut the door quietly. _

"_No! Just...Stay where you are!" The taxi driver yelled, holding out a hand to stop him. George nodded slowly and leaned against the door, feeling himself go numb as he continued to stare at the woman. _

_George had never seen a dead body before, nor had he ever seen so much commotion happen at one in the morning in Dunfermline, which is usually a quiet town. He didn't know how long he had been there, staring at the woman and answering some questions from the police but he needed a ride home._

_Pulling out his phone he gave John a quick text, knowing that he was in tonight with the car and not drinking with Paul and Ringo. _

"_Why?" Came the reply, George shook his head and let out small sigh._

"_Under the train bridge, with the police". _

"_What have you done? On my way". John replied a few seconds, George didn't write anything back, he just waited. _

_His feet were starting to go numb, but he never really noticed. Though he did jump slightly when someone cleared their throat. _

"_I can't leave...They still need me, do you have a lift?" The taxi driver asked, his eyes looking a little watery. _

"_John's coming". George whispered, voice sounding weak from barely using it. "How much do I owe you?"_

"_Nothing...You don't have to pay". George frowned and placed his wallet back into his coat pocket. _

"_Thanks". _

"_What's your name?"_

_George, what's yours?"_

"_Colin". George nodded, knowing he would never forget that name. "John worried?"_

"_Yeah...He's on his way though". Colin nodded and bit his lip, crouching down a little so he was eye level with George. _

"_She didn't make it". _

"_I know". George whispered, swallowing a lump that was lodged in his throat. _

"_Right well...I'm sorry you had to, see all this"._

"_Me too". _

_A bright beam of light soon blinded George, he shielded his eyes and saw John approach him quickly. The young man then placed an arm on George's shoulder and then pulled him into his chest. George didn't do anything, he stayed completely still as he breathed in John's sent, smelling of home. _

"_Your ok...It's going to be fine". He told him softly, as John watched the dead woman being taken into the ambulance. "I'm sorry you had to-"_

"_Stop". George begged, pulling away from the hug. "It's fucked...Let's just go home". John bobbed his head and turned towards Colin, nodding once at him. _

"_See you, Colin". George mumbled before heading towards the car, John following closely behind. _

That was three months ago and he still listens to the same song that was playing in the taxi when they saw the body. George turned the music off and got up towards the window. He glanced at his watch, it was three in the morning. He hasn't slept right in months, he would stay up till five and wake up at ten. It was just routine for him now and he wasn't about to break that.

George let out a quiet breath and lay back down on his bed, his head flopping on the pillow as he stared at his laptop. He had become a little obsessed with the article about that woman, her name was Julie and according to her family, she seemed like a happy twenty three old who used to study at college, hoping one day to become a vet. George ran a hand over Julie's face on the screen and bit his lip when he felt his eyes water. He wouldn't cry, he couldn't. It didn't feel right to cry over Julie, the only tears that should be shed are the ones from her family and friends.

George would just have to deal with being numb, and forever retrace his steps in the depths of Julie's eyes. 


	2. Chapter 2

Raymond Lindquist once wrote, "Courage is the power to let go of the familiar". George wondered if Raymond ever stuck by his own words and let go and if he did, George would envy that man.

Three months of the same routine, the same feelings and all things feeling comfortably familiar, George had began to grow sick of himself. He was bored, he was bored of his own company but too numb to do anything about it. Life had came to a stand still, that's for sure and he felt powerless to do anything else other than, obsess.

It was ten in the morning and George walked into the kitchen where John was, already setting breakfast out onto the table. Right on time and just as George had asked, a plate of toast with a side of scrambled eggs.

"How about some salt, or cheese with those eggs?" John asked, figuring he might as well try and persuade the kid to eat something else.

"No". George told him flatly, as he began to eat his breakfast, the same meal he had eaten for three months straight.

"How about lunch then? What if we had a cheese toastie instead of vegetable soup?"

"No".

John sighed and ran a hand down his face. Not only was he getting bored of making George the same meals every day but he had also noticed how skinny and sickly looking the kid was. He was bound to be lacking in iron and vitamins. Not only was it driving George insane but John was sure it was bond to make the kid more unhealthy.

"Done". Another thing he did which worried John endlessly, George never finished his food. Like every day, he would only eat half and quickly exit the kitchen before someone would beg him to eat more. John was well aware of how skinny his friend had gotten, they even had to buy him more belts to hold his jeans and trousers up.

With a shaky sigh, John collected the plates and disposed the remaining food before filling the basin up with water and washing up liquid. He knew something had to be done but all these little things George did to keep everything the same was starting to feel dangerously familiar and they had to break that pattern. Even if it hurt someone in the process.

George put the song on and began to get dressed. He put on a pair of light blue jeans, a black t-shirt with a red shirt on top. Just like yesterday. The same colours, the same patterns and the same socks. Only they weren't completely the same, just clones. Paul had spend a lot of money getting the exact same clothes from the exact same shop but it wasn't hard to find, which killed his wallet. George didn't seem to care though, he just wanted to keep things the same and keep the routine going for as long as he could.

Having the same routine made him feel comforted and like he was in control. There was a lot of things he couldn't control but having this pattern made him feel stronger and more powerful than ever.

When the song ended the first time, it played again which signalled George to now comb his hair and then brush his teeth. He had to run the comb through his hair for two minutes and then brush his teeth for five. If he mucked it up, which he has a couple of times, he would have to start the whole process again. If that ever happened though, George wouldn't leave his room for the rest of the day.

He was lucky today though and didn't disturb his routine. Although, a small knock on his bedroom door, did.

"George...Chris is on the phone".

"Right...Leave a message".

"I've been leaving him messages for three months now, take it". John shoved the phone into George's hands, sending the seventeen year old boy to glare at him before placing the phone up to his ear.

"Yeah?"

"Wow...Never thought you'd answer". Chris said, sounding pissed but who could blame him. George had been ignoring his friends for months, not going out anymore and ignoring their calls and texts.

"Sorry, I-"

"Don't care". He interrupted, rudely. "I'm coming over. I'm worried and I hate being worried cause-"

"You don't like showing emotion. I get it, I know you".

"Really? Because I don't think you do anymore, George". George frowned and bit his lip, banging his head on the wall and staring up at the ceiling. "Who cares...I'm coming round, Stewart's driving us up".

"You don't have to-"

"Shut up, Harrison". He growled, "We're coming over".

"Wait, I-" But the phone line was soon dead and George could do nothing but tremble, almost falling to the ground.

"Jesus...George!" John said, alarmed as he ran over and grasped George by the shoulders. "Easy there...You alright?" George snapped his head up, eyes growing dark and angry as he shoved John away.

"Fuck you!" He yelled, "It's all your fault and now every thing's fucked!"

"Hey! It's not my fault you've locked yourself away since..." John stopped there, not wanting to bring it up but George soon turned to face him.

"Say it". He whispered, voice low and dangerous. "Go on...I dare you".

"No..." John whispered softly, "No, you need to say it. You need to admit what happened and move on with your life because right now...Right now, your just standing still and afraid of change".

"No!" George screamed before he punched the wall, his knuckles hurting. He breathed deeply, eyes watering with pain as he looked down. His knuckles weren't broken but they were swollen and bruised.

"Oh, George..." John said sadly, moving closer to his friend. "I'll get you some ice".

"I'm fine". He said quietly, swallowing back the tears as he pushed away from John and headed out of his room. "I'm fine".

"No...No your not, junior". John whispered to himself, once George had locked the bathroom door.

Two boy's, who were both ten months older than George were currently sitting in the living room. Around them was an awkward silence and a tense atmosphere as George glared at the floor and John placed his mouth on the tips of his fingers, kneeling against his knee.

"We were worried". Stewart said, breaking the silence as he licked his lips and glanced over at George, who wasn't looking back. "We heard what happened and...Well...You know?" Chris cleared his throat and leaned closer towards his silent friend.

"What Stewart means to say is. We're just wondering if your alright mate? Plus, it's no good that you've locked yourself away like this. You'll turn into my Aunt Betty". He said, snorting a little but still looked worried.

"I'm fine". George mumbled, though didn't look up.

"What happened to your knuckles, mate?" Stewart asked lightly, trying to ease the tension.

"He punched the wall". John stated quietly.

"Sore one". Chris commented, hissing though his teeth. "Mind I did that after Nelly broke up with me?"

"Yeah". Chuckled Stewart, "You broke your hand though".

"Aye, I mind that". Chris flexed his once broken hand. "Helped though, for a bit. Then I realized I had to move on". He said, deliberately looking at George who shrunk a little on the couch.

"Just...Come out with us tonight, George? We'll go to mine and finish playing Lord Of The Rings...Come on, mate. Please?" Stewart practically begged, his blue eyes pleading but George declined the offer and shook his head.

"Fair play". Chris then got off the couch, "Come on Stew, we're leaving".

"What? We only just got here".

"He doesn't want us here. Do you?" Chris looked down at George, who stayed silent though bit his lip. "Told you". He whispered, "Come on, Stew".

"Well...Alright then". Stewart got up and smiled down at his friend, feeling himself grow increasingly worried. "I'm only a phone call away, Geo. Remember that, yeah?"

"Cheers for coming". John told him, smiling faintly at the two of them before they walked out of the flat

Once his friends had left, George got up from the couch and ran to his room, slamming the door behind him. He walked over to his laptop and put that song on again, turning the volume up as he sat up against the door, stopping anyone from coming in.

George wrapped his arms around his knees and pulled them up to his chest before he dropped his head when he felt himself grow dizzy and sick. His breathing began to pick up, coming out in short gasps as his heart raced. His hands felt clammy and sweaty as panic began to set in and fear filled his stomach. How could anyone live like this?

At twelve, George headed down for lunch. John had already placed the bowl of soup on the table with a small glass of orange squish beside it.

"Chris was right". He said, whilst watching as George silently ate. "He was right, you should get out and try to live again...You need to break out of this routine". John sighed and ran hand down his face when he got no reaction. "George, why aren't you happy?" The teen stared up at him, as if he had just said the dumbest thing. "Well...Which part makes you sad?"

George wiped his face with a tissue and placed the spoon back into the half eaten bowl of soup before replying with, "All of it". With that said, George then pulled the chair back and got up, leaving John to stare at him as he left the kitchen.

Back in his room, George sat on his bed as he stared at the picture of Julie. She looked happy, there was a smile on her face and her green eyes were sparkling.

"I retrace my steps, down the depths of your eyes".


	3. Chapter 3

Paul McCartney loved working. He loved being busy and staying overtime, hoping to earn some extra money to buy nice things for the flat or possibly spoil his friends with treats and such. His job was also pretty fun, at the age of twenty one he had managed to find work with the SSPCA. He didn't do the runs of saving the animals, he worked in the call centre and dealt with people on the phone who had found stray or injured animals and Paul loved that. At least here at work, he could do some good. Back at home however, he felt powerless.

"Paul...You should go home, you've been here for fourteen hours". One of his co-workers said.

"I will". Paul said, checking his phone, only to find out it was almost nine at night. "I'll leave now, you got it from here?"

"Of course". Maggie smiled, "Go home and get some rest".

"I'll try". Paul smiled, as he packed away his things and put on his coat. "See you in the afternoon, Maggie".

"Bye, Paul".

His work was only a twenty minute car journey away and Paul had thankfully saved up for one when he turned seventeen. It wasn't much, but it ran and the insurance was cheep. He got into his small blue, ford and started the engine. Paul sat there for a few moments in thought though, wondering what the flat would be like when he got there and how George would act tonight. Not wanting to dwell too much though, he then began to drive away from his work and onto the road home.

"Your late".

"Overtime".

Ringo frowned, as he took Paul's wet coat. It had began to rain just as Paul was leaving work and his coat was a little wet from the heavy raindrops.

"You always work late, Paul. It's not healthy". Ringo protested, Paul laughed.

"Really? You want to talk about what's not healthy?" Ringo said nothing but lowered his head, Paul had got him there. "Just give him the dam DVD". Paul muttered as he walked past Ringo.

"Already did, he's watching it now".

"See? This Ringo...The way we live, this isn't healthy".

"It's all we can do, Paul". Ringo argued.

"No, we can help him get better. Not encourage him to stay sick". He whispered, coming closer to his friend. "You know I'm right".

"Christ...I know Paul, I know this can't be good for him but what else can we do?!" Ringo tiredly told him, his voice cracking a little at the end. Paul frowned then and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"We'll think of something...Surely, there must be something we can do". He muttered as Ringo bit his lip in thought.

"Lads?" John queried, as he entered the small hallway. "What's going on?"

"We were just...Thinking, it's nothing". Paul stated, stepping past John and going into the living room.

"Macca, you've been working late again".

"I'm well aware, John".

"You don't have to, Ringo works. We don't need the extra-"

"It's not about that". Paul cut in sharply, "I need to get away from this bloody house. It's driving me down".

"Alright". John softly said, "Easy Macca, I know". Paul let out a short laugh as he sat down on the couch, his face looking worn out, tired and pale. "You're tired, I get it". He sat down next to his friend, "This whole situation is-"

"Fucked". Paul finished, running a hand down his face. "George is different, everything about him is different. He's forgotten how to laugh, how to smile and he's like a lost child. Wondering around a busy shop, trying to find his mum". Paul's bottom lip began to quiver a little, he bit it hard and tried to stop the tears from falling. "Only...It's not his mum that's missing, he's lost himself". John nodded and leaned back, his head landing on the couch as he stared up at the white ceiling.

"That sounds about right".

"And here we are...We're one of those people around the shop, encouraging him to stay lost because we don't have the balls to make him face reality".

"What do we do, Macca?" John almost moaned, "How do we make him better? How do we make him smile again and be happy like before?" Paul let out a small sigh, rubbing the tears from his eyes.

"We have to take away the things he's holding onto the most. We need to slowly break him away from his routine and we need to push him to face reality".

"How do we do that without hurting him?"

"We can't...He's going to have to feel hurt, in order to get better". John turned his head to face Paul, noticing that he was deadly serious.

"That's the only way?" He whispered, Paul nodded and whispered back,

"That's the only way".

At ten the next morning, George walked into the kitchen, expecting to see the same meal but he didn't. In stead, he saw that John had put out a bowl of cereal and a glass of milk.

"What the fuck is this?" George hissed out, glaring down at the food.

"Something different". John replied with a shrug, as if nothing had changed.

"No...No, this isn't right". He whispered, furiously shaking his head. "It's not right. Put it back. It's not right!" He yelled, voice getting increasingly higher.

"Calm down...It's just food".

"No! Don't tell me to fucking calm down, John! Just fix it!"

"No". John stated, sounding oddly calm even though George was yelling. "Just sit down and eat what's giving to you".

George gritted his teeth together and growled as he lurched forward, grabbing the bowl and smashing it onto the ground.

"Fuck this!" He screamed, grabbing the glass of milk and holding it in his hands.

"George...Stop this, please". John asked softly, trying to keep his emotions stable for the sake of his friend. "You don't have to smash that glass now, do you?" He placed a hand on George's and carefully brought it down. The teenager felt himself relax a little from John's gentle touch but there was soon tears in his eyes, threatening to fall. "Your ok...You'll be ok".

"No!" George ripped away from John's soft voice, his gentle touches and backed off towards the door. "Stop it!" He warned loudly, "Just...Just leave me alone!" George spun around and ran to his room, slamming the door behind him.

John let out a long breath, leaning against the table for support. His eyes stung and his breathing was hard. This wasn't his George, his George was quiet, kind and sweet. The kid who was standing in front of him was angry, obsessed and sick. John knew he had to keep to his word though, for the rest of the houses sake. He needed to ease George away from his routine and stand his ground. Things were going to change and they would find the George they know and love.

George let out a groan of frustration and slammed his hand against the door. He was angry but also felt incredibly low. He walked towards his full length mirror, looking at himself properly for the first time in months. He was pale, dark circles were under his eyes, his arms looked like twigs and lifting up his t-shirt he noticed how prominent his ribs were. George let out a small whimper before balling his hand up into a fist, bringing it back and then hitting the mirror.

Glass shattered, falling by his feet. His eyes widened a little as he knelt down and picked a sharp piece up. He was in for seven years of bud luck but what could be worse than this?

"George, what..." John's eyes trailed down at the glass on the floor and he soon gasped when he saw George was holding a piece. "Junior...Put the glass down, yeah? Just step away and I'll clean this up. Alright?" He said softly though, voice shaking a little.

George stared at the glass in his hand before glancing up at John and for the first time in a while, John noticed George's face had softened a little and he almost looked childlike.

"Why?"

"Just...Please, junior? You might hurt yourself". He told him, as if he was correcting a small boy who was about to do something stupid.

"Are you...Are you scared I'll hurt myself?" He asked quietly, licking his lips as he stared at his sleeves.

"Yes". John admitted in a timid whisper, "So please, put it down".

George chuckled a little, though his eyes weren't happy. His eyes were dark and almost looked possessed as he began to roll up his left sleeve, revealing his pale arm. He took the glass and brought it to his wrist, John's eyes widened.

"George! No!" He yelled as he ran towards his side and grabbed the kids arm.

"Let...Me...Go!" George screamed, "Let me go! Let me go!"

John didn't need to struggle much, the boy was weak from not eating enough and it was easy to take the glass away from him.

George was breathing heavily, his eyes staring hard at the ground as tears soon filled them.

"You...Idiot!" He yelled, now staring up at John. "I hate you! Why did you do that?! You can't control me!"

John ignored him, swallowing down his hurt as he knelt down to pick up the pieces of sharp glass.

"It's my life...It's my life John!"

Still ignoring him, John got up from the floor and exited the bedroom.

"I hate you! I hate everyone!" George screamed, as he pulled his hair. "I wish you'd all just fuck off!" Walking away from the broken mirror, he slammed his bedroom door shut and threw himself onto his bed. "I wish you'd all go away...Just go away..." He moaned, as tears rolled down his face. "Just go away". George whispered, letting out a small sob as his eyes began to shut.

John walked back into the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. He reached over to touch George but stopped, he didn't want the kid to yell anymore. He looked exhausted and needed to cool down a bit.

"Go to sleep, junior. We'll talk after". He said in a soothing voice.

"You don't get it". George whispered, voice scratchy from yelling.

"What don't I get?"

"I can't...I can't ever be happy". John frowned, feeling his heartache at those words. Why couldn't George be happy? Everyone deserved to be happy, especially George.

"Why? Why can't you be happy, George?" But he received no answer because George was fast asleep, those late nights and early mornings soon catching up with him.

John ran a hand down his face and let a few tears fall but quickly wiped them away. He then got up and wrapped a blanket around George's fragile body before bending down and kissing the top of his head. "One day, you'll be happy". He whispered before exiting the bedroom and leaving the door open. He was taking no more chances, everyone would have to keep a close eye on George. No way was John losing his baby brother, there was no way.


	4. Chapter 4

Unlike Paul, Ringo hated work. His job was fine and he used to enjoy it but he was always worried about George and just wanted to stay home and keep his eyes on him the whole time. They needed the money though, so Ringo couldn't afford to take time off at the moment, despite what was going on back home.

"Ringo...Can you please wash this man's hair? I've been asking you for the past two minutes". Ringo quickly tore away from his thoughts and turned to face the customer and his impatient boss.

"Sorry, Emma". He let out a small sigh and smiled at the man, "Right this way, sir".

"Cheers mate".

He managed to wash this man's hair without burning his scalp or getting shampoo in his eyes. Ringo wasn't really paying attention to what he was doing but still did a good job and was even left a small tip from the man after he had paid for his trim.

"Look". Emma began with a sigh, when it was almost time to close the barbers. "I know something must be going on at home but you have to leave that behind and do your job, Ringo".

"I know". He said, sounding ashamed. "I'll be better tomorrow, promise".

"You won't". She said quickly, smiling sadly at him. "Take tomorrow off, ok? You can start fresh on Monday".

"I-"

"You'll still get paid". Emma promised, as she handed Ringo his jacket.

"I...Thank you". He said, a little lost for words.

"See you then".

"Yeah, bye".

Ringo walked into the flat and hung his coat up on the wall hanger by the door. He quickly slipped off his shoes before walking into the living room, where John was. Though something was a little different, John wasn't doing anything. He was just sitting there, staring at the wall with a hand covering his mouth.

"John?" Ringo asked, softly.

"Uh? Oh...Hi, Ringo". John cleared his throat and offered the young man a small smile, which didn't reach his eyes.

"Oh God...What happened?" Ringo dared, feeling his breath get caught in his throat as he feared the worst, his mind racing to thoughts of George.

"Nothing...Nothing happened, I don't think".

"Where's George?" He almost demanded, preparing to leave the room.

"Asleep". John whispered, whilst getting up from the couch. "He tired himself out because he was shouting and he broke the mirror and the glass..." Ringo's eyes widened a little, his face turning pale.

"Glass?"

"He was so close to doing it Ringo".

"What?" He gasped, John swallowed and nodded. "But you stopped him?"

"Just in time". Ringo felt his knees grow a little weak, just the thought of George trying to harm himself made him feel a little sick. He couldn't possibly imagine it, he couldn't possibly think of their little Georgie trying to hurt himself. Is that what it was really coming to? Is that how bad it had gotten? "We'll need to watch him closely, from now on". Said John, breaking Ringo out of his thoughts.

"Yeah". He nodded, "Yeah, we will".

George was in his room, sitting on the floor and reflecting on the events that just took place. Could he have done that? Could he have really tried to hurt himself like that? Probably. A black cloud was constantly over his head and he didn't know how to get rid of it. George couldn't cry about it, he hated crying and it still didn't feel right. He tried getting angry but that only seemed to make things worse. Sighing, the boy titled his head back and closed his eyes, trying to remember the last time he felt happy in his room. He snorted a little, when he remembered and it felt so long ago.

_It was raining outside and George's plans were ruined. John was going to take him out today, they were going to visit Paul's uncles farm but the weather had ruined everything. He felt gutted, George was really looking forward to going out for the day and seeing the animals._

"_Hey, junior". John smiled and entered the room, sitting down next to the boy on the bed. _

"_Johnny, this sucks"._

"_I know". He said with a small chuckle, "Not the end of the world though, right? We could always do something else". _

"_Yeah? Like what?" George asked, sounding a little grumpy as he placed his hand onto his cheek and leaned against his knee. _

_John bit his lip and looked around the room, thinking of something fun to do, to keep the kid entertained. He suddenly thought of something, when he spotted George's telly, DVD player and the duvet cover. _

"_I have an idea". _

_Together the both of them had created a fort, built with George's duvet covers and pillows. Inside they watched Toy Story three and ate popcorn, chocolate a large bag of crisps. A rainy day never felt so good for George and he would always be thankful for John's amazing ideas. _

George smiled a little at the fond memory as he stared at his telly. He wished he could feel that happy again, that safe and that content but what happiness was left inside of him, was washed over by a grey cloud. Deep down though, that sweet and cuddly kid was still inside of him, he just didn't know how to find him and just knowing he was still in there was torture.

George had been in his room all day and had managed to skip all of his meals. The others were worried at the thought of the boy wasting away up in his room but whenever they brought something to eat up for George, he would either yell or stay still and silent, not even bothering to lift his head.

For Paul, who had grown up with a well fed family, he just didn't understand how someone could not eat for the whole day and had tried so hard to get George to eat some dinner.

"It's what you have every day, George. It's just pasta". But he got no reaction, George remained staring at the telly, with his arms and legs crossed. Paul sighed and placed the bowl down before sitting next to George on the floor. "Anything good on?" He asked lightly, but frowned when he yet again, got no reaction. "Please stop torturing yourself". He whispered, "You don't deserve it. You couldn't help what had happened. She was going to jump, even if you weren't there". George bit his lip and kept his eyes focused onto the blank screen. "She was very sad, Georgie. So sad, that the only way she could escape was suicide".

"Stop it". George whispered, voice wavering a little.

"No". Paul stated firmly, "You need to hear it so you can move on".

"I...I don't I-"

"Yes you do. That girl jumped George, she jumped because she was very depressed and according to her family, she had just gotten out of a very serious relationship with a young man named David. He never treated her right but she loved him and when they split, she felt her life was over". Paul told the boy, watching him closely. "You can't feel guilty for what happened, George but you can feel sad and scared about it". He said, softening his voice a little.

George's eyes shifted a little until they were met with Paul's. He licked his lips and began to slowly fidget with his hands as he let out a small sigh.

"I...I can't...I can't talk about it". He quietly told the young man.

"One day Georgie, you will. And when that time comes just remember, we're all here to listen and support you". Paul reminded him gently as he carefully brought his hand up and squeezed George's shoulder.

The boy nodded slowly before looking back at the telly screen and going back to his silent state.

"I'll be here, we'll all be here for you". Paul whispered, whilst he got up and left the room. 

Paul binned the untouched food and placed the bowl into the sink. He leaned against the counter and let out a shaky breath before tears rolled down his cheek.

"Macca?"

"Shit". He cursed softly, as John walked up behind him and placed a hand on the younger man's back.

"Macca, what happened?" John asked him gently as Paul cleared his throat and rubbed the tears off his face.

"He won't eat and...I don't know how to fix him". He admitted, biting his trembling lip as he turned to face his friend. "God, John. He's so broken! He's so quiet and then out of nowhere, he just explodes!"

"I know, Macca. I know". Soothed John, as he began to rub Paul's back. "We're all trying really hard, you know? It's just up to George now".

Paul nodded with a sniff and grabbed a piece of kitchen roll, wiping his face with a watery chuckle.

"Sorry, mate. I'm just being silly". John smiled sadly at him and shook his head.

"You're only human, Macca".

"Wish George would act more human, then".

"Me too, Macca".


End file.
